


Single Handed

by Quasar



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-29
Updated: 2010-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:51:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasar/pseuds/Quasar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An offworld accident changes Rodney -- forever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Single Handed

**Author's Note:**

> Although I didn't think either the "graphic violence" or "rape/non-con" warnings really applied, this story does include some explicit medical squickery and a brief mention of childhood abuse. Written January 2007.

The first explosion took them all by surprise, shivering the underground chamber they were exploring.

"What the hell --" John gasped, staggering as the floor shook.

"Something in the village blow up?" Ronon guessed, looking up at the dust filtering from the ceiling.

Rodney, who had been squatting to examine the workings underneath a piece of equipment that stood against the wall, fell back onto his ass. "No, they had nothing volatile or, or advanced enough to cause an explosion that big. It must be --"

"Wraith!" Teyla growled, and ran for the stairs to the surface.

Ronon followed her, but just as John was turning, another explosion sounded above. This one was even closer, making the room rock.

John saw the device, as big as an industrial refrigerator and less hollow, teeter away from the wall. "Look out, McKay!" he yelled, and lunged.

Rodney had just braced a hand against the object as he climbed to his feet, only to be knocked to his knees again. He looked up, saw the device topple, and knew he wouldn't be able to stop it or get out of the way in time. Then John grabbed the back of his vest and pulled. Rodney scrabbled backwards on hands and knees. He almost made it -- all except for his outflung hand, caught beneath the heavy object as it came down.

Rodney shrieked.

"They have found the entrance!" Teyla yelled, and she and Ronon opened fire on the stairs.

John swore and grabbed reflexively at Rodney's wrist, but stopped himself before pulling on it. He tried to lift the device but couldn't get his fingertips underneath to grip it. He couldn't use his P-90 for leverage for the same reason.

All the while Rodney was yelling things that weren't particularly helpful: "Oh my god my hand get it off get it off oh shit that hurts it hurts it's killing me get it off!" Then he subsided to wordless whimpers and stifled moans. Finally he took several deep breaths and said, coherently if in a strained voice, "Get Ronon over here. Switch with Ronon. Maybe he can lift it."

John didn't bother trying to comfort Rodney, since nothing was going to make him feel better. He just ran for the doorway and tapped Ronon's shoulder. "Try to get McKay free. I'll cover you!"

There was a makeshift barricade on the stairs, but the Wraith warriors were plowing into it even as they fell. John fired quick bursts from his P-90, glancing back occasionally at Rodney and Ronon. The big man couldn't get his fingers under the device either. He tried his sword but seemed to be having a problem with that. Rodney was gasping something in a voice too tortured to make out.

"John, look out!" Teyla called, and he ducked aside then turned back to the fight. Another two warriors went down and the barricade was effectively flattened.

Rodney screamed again, loud and high-pitched. John whipped his head around. Ronon had managed to get some kind of lever under the device, but when he tried to lift it the object had just shifted sideways.

A Wraith stunner winged John's elbow, and his entire left side went numb. He could still support his P-90 as long as he swept across the field rather than trying to aim.

He heard the zap of Ronon's blaster and turned to see that Ronon had just stunned Rodney. Probably a good idea, unless John needed to be carried as well. He moved his legs experimentally and thought he would be able to manage with a little support from Teyla or the wall.

There was a heavy clanking sound, then Ronon was hoisting Rodney onto his shoulder. "I got him, come on!" he yelled, heading for the back corridor which they hoped the Wraith hadn't found yet.

Teyla pulled a couple of flash-bangs from her vest and glanced at John. He nodded and gave her a spray of cover fire. In the lull, she darted into the stairwell and tossed both concussion grenades upward with perfect aim. She was already back and hauling John to his feet before they went off.

John didn't notice the blood until they got to the jumper and Ronon lowered Rodney to the floor. There was a lot of it, all over Rodney and Ronon. Rodney had a tourniquet on his upper arm and . . . nothing where his hand should be.

Teyla was trying to maneuver John into the pilot's seat, but he resisted. "What the hell did you do to him, Ronon?!" he yelled.

"I did what I had to do," Ronon said shortly.

"That's his right hand, dammit! He can't work without --" John's voice cracked and he turned away, grabbing the jumper's controls.

"McKay will understand," Ronon said behind him. Teyla said nothing as she bent to check on Rodney.

* * *

John left the infirmary to pummel a punching bag for a while before washing the grime and blood off himself. When he went back to check, Rodney had just gotten out of surgery. John hovered just outside the door and listened.

". . . now that we've got a few units of blood into him."

"So he's going to be all right?" That was Elizabeth's voice.

"I think so, but we'll need to keep a close eye on him for a bit. It's a bloody --" Carson broke off. "It's a damn good thing that sword of Ronon's can cut bone cleanly."

"With a knife, I'd have had to go through at the elbow," Ronon said evenly.

"Aye. And that would have meant more blood loss, but it would also mean less to work with when it comes time to fit him with a prosthesis. With the amputation at mid-forearm, he's a candidate for a multi-functional . . ."

John left.

He returned during the night, thinking he could sit with Rodney alone, but Ronon was already there. When John came around the curtain, the big man stood and loomed over him for a moment, then nodded and left without a word.

John moved the chair around to Rodney's left side -- so he could hold his lax hand, not because he couldn't stand to look at the bandaged, too-short arm. He sat there for about an hour, then left when the nurse came around.

* * *

The next day, Rodney was awake, but high as a kite.

"Rodney?" Carson asked. "How are you feeling?"

"Hmmm? Oh . . . 'm fine, fine. Juss fine."

"Do you remember what happened?"

"Mmm-hmmm. Somethin' hurt, but isss okay now."

Carson swallowed. "Rodney, your hand was trapped --"

"Ohhhh yeah. I 'member." Rodney heaved a little as he tried to gesture, then frowned down at his immobilized right arm. Then he gave an airy wave with his left hand. "I mememe-- ber. I told, uh . . . sssname. Wassisname. Big guy."

"Hi, McKay," said Ronon from the corner.

"Yeah, him! I told 'im. Sokay. Don' worry, big guy. It'll grow back. See?" Rodney pulled at the restraints again. "Duzzen' even hurt."

"All right, Rodney," said Carson. "Maybe you should go back to sleep now." He adjusted one of the IVs.

"Nnnnn. Notchet. Whrrrz Joh. Joh? I m'n, um . . . Kerl Shep."

"I'm right here, Rodney." John risked a hand on Rodney's ankle.

"Oh theryar. Ummm." Rodney's eyelids were dropping. "Uz gonna . . . gonna say . . . ummm." He jerked his eyes open. "Wha'z I gonna say?"

"It's okay, Rodney, you can say it later," John promised. His throat was so tight it hurt. He just wanted to get out of there.

"No, 'sportant. Gon' say, notcher fault. Y'saved me. I'll be fiiine. Y'll see." And then he was asleep again.

John wanted to run, but Elizabeth was in the way, turning to Carson. "What did he mean, it will grow back?"

"He's high, it doesn't mean anything," John objected.

"Carson?"

The Scot gave a constipated squint. "It's . . . possible."

John froze and glared at the doctor. "Possible? That his _hand_ will grow back?"

"Well . . . y'see, there's an incident in his medical file. We're not completely sure what it means."

Elizabeth's eyebrows were climbing. "But it might mean he can regenerate a severed limb?"

"Aye. Maybe."

Elizabeth looked around at the people crowding the edges of the room. "It sounds like this will be a long story. Why don't we take it to the conference room."

Carson sighed. "I'll get the files."

* * *

Carson arrived at the conference room to find Elizabeth, John, Teyla and Ronon waiting to hear his story. He nodded to them all and set down the laptop he had brought.

"The incident in question happened soon after Rodney went to work at Area 51." He looked at Elizabeth. "Perhaps you remember SG-1's report of their encounter with a fellow named Machello?"

She nodded. "The old man who had fought against the Goa'uld his entire life?" Seeing that John still looked blank, she added, "He made some kind of . . . body-switching device and tried to take Dr. Jackson's place for a while."

"Aye, he had quite a number of clever inventions. The SGC couldn't make heads or tails of most of them, so they ended up at Area 51."

John could see where this was going. "And Rodney activated one of them," he guessed.

"He claims he was trying to prevent a lab assistant from triggering the device, and he'd never have made contact with it otherwise." Carson shrugged. "Be that as it may, Rodney touched the thing and fainted dead away."

"'Passed out,'" John corrected with a tiny smirk.

Carson ignored the interruption. "The base doctor couldn't find anything abnormal on examination, so Rodney simply went back to work."

"And he had no idea what the device had done to him?" Elizabeth asked.

"The operating manual for Machello's inventions was one of the things the SGC held onto," Carson explained. "Relations between the SGC and NID were at their worst just then. Since nothing appeared wrong with Rodney, they refused to go begging for the manual and risk having to trade something valuable in return."

"Wonderful," John growled.

"A few months later, Rodney noticed that his appendectomy scar was gone. A thorough scan revealed that his appendix had actually grown back."

"Okay, that's different," John said.

"What's an appendix?" Ronon asked.

Everyone from Earth stared at him.

"I have not heard of this appendix either," said Teyla.

Carson smiled. "Appendicitis is virtually unknown in the Pegasus galaxy," he explained. "It's one of the benefits of a diet rich in natural fibers --"

"Carson!" said Elizabeth.

"_Ahem_." Carson turned to Ronon and Teyla and spoke quickly. "The appendix is an unneeded vestigial organ which occasionally can develop a dangerous infection. Rodney's had been removed about three years previous. And it shouldn't have grown back." He paused to check his laptop. "But it was another couple of years after that before Rodney was finally allowed access to Machello's notes. He learned that the device was intended for healing and could have a lingering effect, but since Machello had invented it quite late in his own life, it wasn't fully tested. No one could guess how long the effects might last."

John frowned. "So, has Rodney ever healed unexpectedly from anything else?"

"Yes, in fact. He should really have a scar from the knife wounds he got from Kolya. Two of the cuts were quite deep, and they weren't properly tended until more than a day had passed."

John and Elizabeth both winced.

"The cuts healed cleanly without scarring, but it took a couple of months."

"So that healing thing is still working on him," John said.

"It seems so, but we can't tell if the effect has weakened over time. A few small knife cuts are quite a different matter to regenerating an organ . . . or a limb. And Machello did note that certain forms of radiation might cancel the effect."

"Radiation like . . ." John prompted.

Carson gave him an impatient look. "Like working on a poorly shielded nuclear device and then exploding it over the city, or flying into the corona of a star, or excessive ultraviolet --"

"Okay, okay, I get the point," John said. "Rodney whines about that stuff for a reason."

"He hasn't had any other serious injuries for comparison."

"Carson, why didn't you tell us about this before?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yeah, this seems like something I should have known," John said.

Carson sighed. "Rodney asked that it be kept confidential unless something came up where it might actually affect his work here."

"It could damn well affect our off-world missions!" John protested.

"How? According to Machello's notes, even the full healing effect wouldn't prevent someone from dying of a lethal wound. It's not like a Goa'uld sarcophagus or ribbon device. It doesn't make Rodney heal any faster -- just more thoroughly. He may have some added resistance to slow-developing infections such as AIDS or the like, but the Priors' Plague or a fast-acting nanovirus or even the bird flu could kill him as fast as you or me. Add to that we don't even know if he's still under the full effect, and what difference does it make?"

"Makes a difference whether or not we cut off his hand when it gets trapped," Ronon said darkly.

"Well, ye did it anyway, and in a few months we'll have our answer." Carson closed his laptop emphatically.

* * *

As uncomfortable as it made him, John forced himself to visit Rodney at least twice each day: once early around breakfast or lunchtime, with some treat he had traded for or wheedled from the cooks; and once late, after dinner, with a book or game or movie. For the first few days Rodney was asleep half the time and refused both food and amusement the other half. Once the morphine was reduced Rodney was hungrier, but also more inclined to complain at great length. John heard much more than he wanted to about real agony, phantom pain, catheters and bedpans.

Once Rodney was released to rest in his quarters, John was able to bring himself to visit more often, but he still didn't know what to say most of the time. He settled for listening to Rodney's litany of misery and helping with whatever he could. He counted smiles: one for a Ghirardelli chocolate bar, one when he got Rodney into the shower and washed his hair for him (the bandage got wet despite his best efforts), one when he produced the complete Firefly DVD set.

At first he sat on Rodney's left side to watch the episodes, but their elbows kept colliding. It seemed like Rodney moved his left arm twice as much to compensate for the missing right hand, even though he didn't need his hands for watching DVDs. So John sat on Rodney's right and learned not to flinch when the bandaged stump brushed against him.

They didn't talk about Rodney leaving the team. John simply asked Lieutenant Cadman to come to their next mission briefing, which Rodney didn't attend. When they went through the gate, Rodney was in the control room fussing with one of the consoles and refusing to meet John's eyes. When they returned, Rodney was sitting slack-handed and red-eyed in the same chair; he nodded to John and then walked away.

* * *

John didn't know how to bring up the subject of sex. They had never talked about it before; they just did it. But what if Rodney didn't want to do it with him anymore? Or what if he did, and thought John was put off by his injury? Maybe he was still in too much pain. Or maybe he was angry at John for not getting him out of the way of that falling thing.

John waited for Rodney to make the first move, but he never did. One night when their movie was done, John said good night and headed for the door, then stopped. He turned to see Rodney watching him solemnly, his laptop set aside. Without a word John marched back to the bed, pulled Rodney's pants down, and sucked him in.

* * *

When the last bandage came off, John saw the red angry stump just once. Rodney started tying a knot in the end of his sleeve so the stump wouldn't show accidentally. Then Teyla gave him a couple of soft colorful sock-like things that he could fit over the stump to keep it hidden. He wore one at all times, even in bed.

During sex the arm was always tucked away, underneath, hidden. Rodney didn't offer to top, and John wasn't sure if it was because he didn't feel like it or was afraid he couldn't balance well enough. John tried straddling him, but that position had never worked well for them. Finally John brought himself to ask for it in a hoarse whisper. Rodney took him hard, punishingly, with elbow and truncated forearm braced in the small of John's back. He reached around with his left hand to bring John off and came with a shout of triumph or despair seconds after John did.

* * *

Sometimes John thought that Rodney was taking it all too well. He complained about the pain, of course, and about needing to program new keyboard shortcuts into all his computers, and about not being able to handle a pair of circuit probes. But Rodney always complained. It seemed like there should be something more. John wasn't sure what, and he didn't want to talk to Kate Heightmeyer about it; he just worried.

Then one day Rodney bumped an overfull lunch tray into a table edge and tried reflexively to catch it; his stump jammed against the corner of the tray and he dropped everything to curl around his arm, white-faced. John rounded the table and hovered uncertainly, unable to take the pain away.

Behind them, Ronon said, "McKay."

Rodney whirled and punched Ronon hard in the gut. Ronon grunted. Then Rodney started to pummel him with both fist and stump, making strange keening noises but not saying a word -- and that was the most disturbing part of the whole thing. Ronon retreated slowly, taking the blows on his forearms or tightened stomach muscles, blocking without retaliating.

"Rodney," said John. He still didn't know what to do or say. This might be exactly what Rodney needed, but what was John supposed to do the next time he bawled out a couple of Marines for fighting?

Ronon met John's eyes and shook his head. Then he pulled Rodney into a clinch -- still trying ineffectually to land a real blow -- lifted him bodily off his feet, and carried him out into the corridor. When he let go, Rodney's next punch landed on Ronon's jaw and actually made him stagger. Then Rodney reeled back, hit the wall and sank down it to sit on the floor, heaving for breath.

Ronon loomed over him. "Feel better?"

"No, you bastard," Rodney panted.

"Come to the gym tomorrow," Ronon offered. "See if we can find a way for you to fight with one hand."

"Oh, like I could fight even when I had two hands."

Ronon lifted an eyebrow. "Don't you want me to say 'ow' the next time you hit me?"

"You wouldn't say 'ow' if I carved out your liver."

"Gym. Tomorrow. Before lunch." Ronon left, and John slid down the wall to sit next to Rodney, watching him uncertainly.

* * *

John didn't go to observe Rodney's sessions with Ronon, but he asked Teyla for updates. She said that Rodney seemed to be releasing some of his frustrations, but he was very slow to acquire any actual fighting skills, even allowing for the loss of his hand.

John didn't have to ask, because the whole city heard about it when Lorne tried to show Rodney a little bit of judo. Once Rodney realized it was the application of physics to hand-to-hand combat, he sat on the bench and demanded that Lorne show him _all_ of the basic moves. He watched Lorne flip, throw and immobilize a hapless Marine in slow motion for over an hour, then charged off to his lab and stayed up all night developing a set of equations to describe the moves, until he fell asleep over his computer.

When John woke him, Rodney went straight back to work and rewrote all the equations for one hand or hand-and-stump. Then he returned to the gym and tried out his new moves on Lorne, bullying the Major into trying endless variations and belittling any suggestions he dared to make.

Teyla reported a few days later that Rodney's new system was working well, but he was having trouble finding people the right size to try his moves on; Ronon was too big and Teyla too small for Rodney to work out all the details on them, and Lorne was avoiding Rodney. John considered dropping a quiet word to some of the Marines, but instead he invited himself to their next session. Rodney tried to flip John and dropped him on his head instead. Ronon nearly fell over laughing. John and Rodney tackled him together, and it turned into a free-for-all.

* * *

John stopped by the infirmary to get Rodney for lunch; his weekly checkup should be done by now. When he entered, he heard Carson crowing in triumph.

"Good news?" he asked, rounding the curtain.

Rodney stiffened and pulled his sleeve down hastily.

Carson, turning to face John, didn't see the reaction. "He can move his fingers!" the doctor said jubilantly.

John glanced at Rodney's left hand, fisted in his lap.

"On his new hand!" Carson elaborated.

"New . . . hand?" John asked slowly.

"What, hasn't he told ye?"

John leaned against the edge of the bed as his vision tunneled in.

"I wanted to be sure," Rodney's voice sounded distantly.

"Come on, Rodney, show it to him!"

John blinked and shook his head hard, then looked at Rodney.

Slowly, Rodney pulled the sleeve back up.

The stump tapered inward as John remembered, but instead of ending in a pucker of shiny pink scar tissue, it extended into a tiny wrist and hand, the whole thing no larger than John's thumb.

"It's ugly," Rodney whispered. "It looks so weird."

The skin was pink and dry, fine-pored like a baby's. Four little fingers and a thumb, with dimpled knuckles and fingernails the size of the head of a pin. John reached out, mesmerized, and the tiny curled fist opened to grasp at his fingertip.

"I can't control that," said Rodney. "It's a reflex or something. It feels really strange." He shuddered and pulled his arm back. "And it looks disgusting."

"It's perfect," John breathed reverently.

* * *

Between his new judo hobby and the demands of a fast-growing limb, Rodney was eating more than ever. Mostly he just grabbed extra snacks, but even at regular meals his plates rivaled Ronon's sometimes.

One day at lunch John was watching with amusement as Rodney shoveled food into his mouth with his left hand while talking with his mouth full and gesturing with his stump. He still kept it stocking-covered since he didn't want anyone staring at the new growth, but he was beginning to use it more freely. Sometimes John saw movement at the end of the limb as the small hand flexed.

He sensed a presence behind him and turned to find Colonel Caldwell frowning over his shoulder. "Colonel, a word please," said Caldwell.

John was done eating, so he just shrugged at Rodney and dumped his tray. Caldwell drew him into a quiet alcove.

"I'm worried about Dr. McKay," said Caldwell. "I tried to bring this up to Dr. Weir, but she dismissed my concerns. I thought maybe you could talk to her about it."

John crossed his arms. "I could, if I knew what it is you're concerned about."

Caldwell grimaced. "Shouldn't he be on Earth? He could get better care there. Physical therapy. A properly-fitted prosthetic. I was expecting to see a prosthetic on the Daedalus manifest, but Dr. Beckett hasn't even ordered a temporary model."

"McKay's doing fine here. There's no need for him to go to Earth. Beckett's on top of it."

"Sheppard, I realize you're fond of the man and don't want him to leave Atlantis, but I've known men who lost limbs before --"

"So have I," John rasped.

"Therapy with the nerves and muscles is crucial in the first year if he's going to retain enough functionality to control a complex prosthetic. Then there are the signs of depression McKay is exhibiting --"

"Depression?" John protested, thinking of the cheerful motor-mouth he'd just been sitting with.

"He's eating too much and working too hard. He's using his flamboyant personality to distract you all from his problems. And no one here will admit it!"

John sighed and turned his head. "Hey Rodney, could you come over here a minute?"

"What is it?" Rodney griped as he joined them. "I haven't had my dessert yet." He was holding a plate of Athosian spice-cake drizzled with Earth-style icing, but he couldn't hold it and eat it at the same time. He handed the plate to John to hold while he dug a fork into it.

"Take off your sock and show Colonel Caldwell how nicely you're healing," John said.

"What?" Rodney mumbled around his cake. "Why?"

"Because, he wants to send you back to Earth where you can get _proper_ medical care."

Rodney sighed elaborately and lifted his right arm so he could pull the little stocking off with his teeth (his left hand being occupied with a second forkful of cake). He shook his sleeve back to the elbow and waved at Caldwell with his chubby infant-sized hand.

"I'm thinking a physical therapist might have a little trouble figuring out what to do with that," John said to Caldwell, who had gone pale.

"What . . . what is --" Caldwell sputtered, staring at Rodney. "What are you? You can't be human."

Rodney rolled his eyes and spat the stump-stocking into his little fist, which wouldn't have had the dexterity to catch it one week earlier. "Oh, please," he said. "You think I would have been allowed on this expedition if I weren't human? I just had an . . . encounter with a weird healing device, that's all. There are more things in the Milky Way and Pegasus than are dreamt of in your narrow-minded philosophy, Colonel. Can I finish my dessert now?" He stabbed his fork at John's finger before it could swipe some icing.

"Well, I -- I suppose," said Caldwell uneasily.

"Here, Rodney, let me give you a hand," said John, smirking. He held the sock open for Rodney to slip his right arm into and tugged it up above his elbow. Then he followed Rodney back to their table to try to steal some of his second dessert.

"_Should_ you be getting PT?" he asked.

"Oh, right, because Carson and I would never have thought of that on our own!" Rodney dug into his pudding while John plotted his move. A spoon was easier to defend against than a fork.

"I was just asking," John said, trying a pout on for size. It was usually pretty effective with Rodney, but not when he was distracted by food.

"It's more like a child's hand than an injured adult hand -- not just in appearance, but also the bones and tendons and cellular structure. Children don't lift weights or do extreme stretches because it's too easy to strain the developing tendons and cartilage. Same principle here. Carson gave me some dexterity exercises, and believe me, I'm doing those all the time. He says I don't really need a therapist to push me harder, because if it hurts I should stop and rest it."

"Okay," said John. "Sounds good enough for me." He waited for Rodney to look down again before lifting the fingerful of pudding he had scored while Rodney was talking, but the furrow in the pudding spoke for itself.

"Hey!"

* * *

The first time Rodney's little toddler-hand touched John's dick during sex, he pulled away sharply and wilted within seconds. Rodney paled, his mouth turning down. "You _do_ think it's disgusting," he spat.

"No -- Rodney -- it's not that," John said weakly.

"Then why don't you tell me what it is?" Rodney demanded, climbing out of bed and reaching for his clothes. "Even if _that_ didn't speak for itself --" he waved at John's groin, "-- you look like you're about to throw up or something, just because I touched you!"

John swallowed hard. "It's not gross or anything, it's just, it's like . . . it feels like a kid's hand," he whispered at last.

"Well, it isn't! It's my hand. It might be new, but it's no more innocent or naive than the rest of me!"

Rodney could be pretty naive sometimes, but John didn't say that. He just shook his head. "I'm not -- what if I start to --" Forcing the words out felt like trying to get fuel through a corroded line. "I don't want to be the kind of person who gets turned on by that!" he yelled in a rush.

Rodney froze, staring at him with a shirt held in his child-like hand. "John. Is there something I should know?"

John ran for the bathroom. He was in too much of a rush to lock the door, so Rodney was there a few seconds later. He rubbed John's back left-handedly and wiped his face with a damp cloth afterward. He murmured extravagant promises to murder or drain the bank balance or steal the identity of anyone John cared to name, anyone at all. He didn't ask questions. John fell asleep that night with Rodney's big, warm hand splayed across his chest.

* * *

Within a couple of months, Rodney's new hand was the size of a five-year-old's, and dextrous enough to help him type. He left off the little sock covering and rolled his shirt sleeve back. Everyone was shocked at first, but Rodney treated them to a hefty dose of sarcasm until they forgot to be glad that he was getting better.

Most of the new scientists arriving on the next Daedalus trip didn't even notice the undersized hand until they tried to shake it. Some of the shocked expressions were priceless. John overheard a couple of the new people in the dinner line wondering how Rodney had been accepted for the expedition with such a severe birth defect. He didn't bother correcting them; they would learn not to make assumptions, or they would leave.

* * *

John found Rodney working on one of the jumpers, lying on his back between the front seats to reach up under the console.

"This isn't so bad, having one hand smaller than the other," Rodney said cheerfully. "I can reach into places I couldn't, before. Yesterday Miko actually asked me to get a tool she'd dropped between consoles. Can you believe that? She couldn't reach it, but I could!"

"Sounds useful," said John, admiring the view.

"Now if only I didn't have to clip the fingernails twice a day. Why do they have to grow as fast as the rest of it?"

"Because you look so cute filing them," John said. "You should paint your nails. Fuschia would be lovely, don't you think?"

"Oh, very funny." Rodney twisted to reach his arm up higher, his hips rising up and rotating.

With his eyes on that appealing curve, John sent a silent command to close and lock the jumper's hatch, then joined Rodney on the floor.

* * *

"I think it's time for me to get back on the team," Rodney said a few weeks later.

John clung to the bed and panted.

"I mean, my hand is perfectly all right, just small," Rodney went on, stroking slickly around John's grasping hole with the hand in question.

They didn't normally talk much during sex. Well, Rodney often kept up a dirty stream-of-consciousness monologue, but he rarely said anything that required a reply. John had to struggle to focus his mind. "Can you -- Ah! Ah! Ungh! -- can it handle a gun?" He writhed, trying to get Rodney to touch the right place. "Your right hand?"

"Yes. A pistol." Rodney's fingers pressed teasingly inward. "Which I could also use with my left hand, if needed. I've tried it; my aim isn't too bad."

John dropped his forehead to the pillow and gulped for air between long, luxurious groans. "P-90?"

"Well . . . no. But I bet I'd be fine with a Wraith stunner."

"Rodney. Oh! A little -- little more . . ."

"What?" Rodney objected, his fingers falling just short of John's prostate. "How many times have I ever carried a P-90 offworld anyway?"

"Deeper! Just, just a little --" John was wagging his ass in the air desperately, trying to get Rodney's fingers to the sweet spot. "Rodney, please! Please, oh god . . ."

"Here, just a second." Rodney pulled back and fumbled with lube, and John expected to feel his dick driving in any second.

Instead, the fingers returned, wetter than ever. They pushed into John's hungry hole and he whined in frustration; it wasn't enough. Then he felt something else, something new, and his eyes widened as he realized that was the bulge of Rodney's thumb, folded into the palm.

"Rodney! Oh shit, oh god. Don't -- I've never . . . god, don't stop!"

"Not stopping."

His thumb stretched John impossibly wider, burning sweetly and making his throat catch. Then he was in, popping through the ring of muscle, and John's ass clamped around Rodney's wrist.

"There, how's that?" Rodney twisted his arm, fingers sliding one by one across John's prostate. He shifted his balance and reached his big, warm left hand around to engulf John's dick.

John screamed. He was beyond caring how he looked or sounded as his feet drummed the mattress and his fingers shredded the pillow. He couldn't form any words, but every breath came out with a yell. With one hand up his ass and the other around his dick, he felt like a puppet jerking to Rodney's will. It seemed to go on forever as John bucked and bellowed. The pressure within, and the warm friction without, forced pleasure through and out of him in a series of explosive grunts.

He collapsed on the bed, heaving as Rodney petted his balls. The hand inside him pulled back slowly, and he oofed when it popped out again. Then Rodney was arranging him, limp and open, pushing his knees apart, and driving into him with a long, satisfied sigh.

"So what do you say?" Rodney asked a little breathily, driving in and out. "Am I back on the team?"

"Yesss," John hissed. "Nng, god, yes, Rodney, yes!"


End file.
